


War's Over

by faithlessone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3944935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War's Over

“War’s over, Cullen.”

Her voice is melodious, teasing. He looks down at her, smiling as she reaches out to take his hand.

“War’s over,” she repeats, knowing he hadn’t heard her properly the first time. “We can breathe. Imagine that. A moment to ourselves.”

“No more Corypheus?”

She shakes her head, her smile growing ever wider. “No more Corypheus.”

Skyhold’s Great Hall is filled with music; with people, laughing and talking and dancing. So much joy in one place, it’s astonishing. He gazes around the room, watching quietly. Who would have thought that there could ever be this much happiness?

“Cullen? Are you listening?” Evelyn is pouting now. He turns to give her his full attention and she smiles like a sunrise. “Cullen, dance with me. Dorian will kill me if I don’t make you dance in public after what happened at Halamshiral, and I can already feel Vivienne judging me for not yet showing this dress off properly.”

He smiles at her, finally noticing her outfit. The gown makes her look like liquid fire, a million beads and sequins glittering in the light of the candles all around them. She flickers as she allows him to spin her round, slowly. The dress doesn’t manage to outshine her. Nothing could outshine her tonight.

“Dance with me.” Her tone brooks no dispute, and he can’t possibly deny her when she looks at him like that, all fire and passion and glorious, unbridled joy, just to be with him.

Her hand still in his, he leads her to the dance floor. The other couples part to let them through, and Cullen knows it’s all for her. Their hero. Their saviour.

She feels like perfection in his arms, smiling up at him as they twirl around the floor. His feet seem to know every step, no hesitation or falter. He remembers how terrified he had been in Halamshiral, their dance the only good thing to happen to him there. He had stepped on her toes more than once, but tonight they glide together like they’ve been dancing all their lives.

“What will we do tomorrow?” she asks. “I can’t remember the last time I had nothing to do.”

He can’t resist smirking. “I’m not planning on getting out of bed at all. Perhaps you’d care to join me?”

Evelyn laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Sounds like a good plan, Commander.”

She presses a brief kiss to his lips and then tucks herself against him, closing the modest gap between them to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around her waist, clasping her tight, slowing the steps till they are barely moving; just holding each-other. He tilts his head, closing his eyes to inhale the sweet scent of her hair.

He opens his eyes.

And he’s alone.

The hall is empty.

The music is a memory.

She’s gone.

How could he forget that?

She’s gone.

She’s dead.

Corypheus killed her.

There was no party.

There was no dress.

There was no dance.

Just him. Alone. In Skyhold. 

Alone.

Silence seems to echo through the stone walls. No one wanted to stay there after Evelyn died. They left him. He’s alone.

He leaves the hall and slowly climbs the stairs to her room.

Not her room any more, but he can’t bring himself to call it anything else.

Her bed doesn’t smell like her any more.

Her papers still lie on her desk. Her books on the floor. Her clothes in the wardrobe.

Just not her.

Because she’s gone.

How could he forget that?

He presses his eyes closed and tries to remember the dream. The sight of her dress. The smell of her hair. The sound of her laughter. The taste of her lips. The feeling of dancing with her. It’s like smoke, dissipating before he can grasp it.

All that’s left is the music. The music they danced to, swirling in his head, taunting him with half-vanished memories of something that never happened.

Then he can hear her voice in his head. Soft, safe, sweet.

He lies down on her bed. If he can just fall asleep, perhaps the dream will be waiting for him. He prays it will. 

He closes his eyes, presses his hand across them to block out the little light that spills through her curtains. He can hear her voice.

“You’re safe,” she says. “I’m here.”

He clings to the voice. Curls his body into it.

“I’m safe,” she says. “You’ve got me.”

He reaches out for her. He can feel her in his arms if he just holds tight enough.

“You’re a good man,” she says. “I love you.”

He can feel her hand on his forehead. He can smell her skin.

“Wake up,” she says. “Come back to me.”

He opens his eyes. 

He’s curled against her side, head on her chest, legs tangled with hers. She’s gently stroking his head with one hand, idly tracing patterns or words on his back with the other. She smiles to see him awake.

“That’s better.”

He turns his face into her shoulder and kisses it before pulling back. Her arms keep him close, and there’s nowhere he would rather be.

“Was it a really terrible dream?” she asks softly.

Skyhold, empty. Him, alone. Her, gone. He pushes the memory out of his head.

“It doesn’t matter now.”


End file.
